Shaved Ice
by I heart scrawny Jewish boys
Summary: Nineyearold Maureen finds her first calling after watching Dorothy Hamill on TV.


**Title: **Shaved Ice**  
Author: **Corinna Lael**  
Feedback: **Keeps me from having to eat at the school's dining hall.**  
Pairing: **None. Well, maybe Maureen/Dorothy Hamill. Joke.**  
Word Count: 865  
Rating: **G**  
Genre: **General, I suppose.**  
Summary: **Maureen finds her first "calling".**  
Notes: **Written sort of stream-of-consciousness in nine-year-old Maureen's perspective.**  
Special Thanks: **Beverly Qualheim, for giving me the pattern to knit preemie hats for charity.**  
Spoilers: **None.**  
Warnings: **None.**  
Disclaimer:** I own an empty can of soup and some reconstituted lemon juice. Certainly not Rent.

I remember everything. I was nine the first time I remember seeing the Winter Olympics, and my mother couldn't drag me away from the TV. I knew right then and there that I'd figured out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life; I wanted to be an ice skater. I wanted the world to watch when I lept up, defying gravity, unafraid of the cold, hard ice below, and spin around in the air two or three times. I wanted to wear beautiful costumes that moved with me, that were made especially for my body. I wanted to be dipped so low that my head would almost touch the ice, and the audience would gasp. I wanted, more than anything, to be Dorothy Hamill.

She was so beautiful. It was her first year as a champion, and they said on the radio in my room that she had inspired hundreds or thousands of little girls to take up ice skating. I didn't care. I was going to be the best of them, and I was going to meet her, and I was going to win the gold medal. Maybe I'd tie with Dorothy, and we'd share the gold medal. Or maybe I'd win the silver, but only because they didn't want to give me the medal because I was too young, but Dorothy would give me hers, because she knew I really deserved it. I had a lot of daydreams about Dorothy in those days.

My parents weren't quite as supportive as I thought they would be. Who wouldn't want a famous ice skater for a daughter? I was surprised. Apparently, according to my father, it wasn't worth it. I wasn't graceful enough, and besides, lessons were too expensive. And apparently, my offer to work off the money was too funny for words. Hmph.

I was already good at pouting my lips and asking, "Please, Daddy? Don't you love me?" But that winter turned me into a champion. By March, I stood in line, tallest one in the class, all eight of us wobbling on our new skates. It also looked like I was the oldest one in the class...by a lot. There was a girl there that looked like she was four or five at the most. What the heck were her parents doing, putting her in such a dangerous sport at such a young age? Ice skating sounded dangerous. I mean, if you fell, you could split your head open.

The instructor was a really tall skinny French lady, which was confusing. I thought France was hot. Don't they have beaches where people go naked? It didn't make sense to be naked in the cold. Anyway, she was really strict, and it was hard to understand her sometimes. She clapped her hands at the start of the 'practical lesson,' and told us to try skating forward.

I was so excited. I knew that this was the chance I'd waited for, and I was going to zoom ahead of all the little kids and go into the triple-twist just like Dorothy. It looked hard, but I knew if I really tried, I could do it. Mom always said I could do anything if I wanted it bad enough.

I concentrated so hard on how bad I wanted it, and I took off. The first steps were a little shaky, but I really got the hang of it after that. I went slow, just like Madame Patons said, and it worked! Then I thought I'd show her my surprise move, and started going really fast. Dorothy always went really fast right before the triple-twist.

Ice _hurts_ when you fall on your face. I didn't even have time to put my hands up. I just heard a crack, and then all I heard was Madame Patons yelling at Sophia, the little four-year-old. She was going _really_ fast...but she didn't fall. I saw her skating by me, and her skates shaved ice onto my face. Then Madame Patons saw me, lying on the ice, upset at missing my big turn. She told me to get up, but I couldn't. After the ambulance came, I had to get thirteen stitches behind my ear. I had to cut my hair really short, because it was uneven.

I never did skate again. Mom offered to take me back the next year, and Daddy said it was a waste of money anyway, but that didn't really matter. I told him he could get me singing lessons. I always wanted to sing. Like Stevie Nicks. I always liked her more than Dorothy Hamill anyway.


End file.
